AUTHOR"S NOTE:

Hello everyone. Welcome to chapter two. I'm playing around with kind of random ideas, so please just bear with me here. Shout outs to things that I'm sort-of being inspired by - Simon R Green's The Nightside series gave me a wonderful vision in my head of part of what I'm playing with here, as well as Jim Butcher's Codex Alera series (vaguely), as well as good old Stephen King, and I'll add in more as they come about.

I'm a compulsive Traffic checker, so I know that people have read the first chapter of this, and yet, no one had chosen to review it. I'd like it if you would. As I said, compulsive traffic checker here... and compulsive review checker, too. So please, if you like this, or hate this or anywhere in between, don't hesitate to let me know. You can always also PM me.

I gotta be honest, this story is coming to me as I write it, so I'm not sure what's going to happen here - and I'm not sure I want to, yet. I kind of like being surprised. I don't expect to continue posting a chapter a day, although stranger things have happened, so who can know?

Anyway, I do ask that you read, enjoy, fav or follow. Also, I wish to remind you that I own nothing about this. So, you know, there's that.

And one more thing - there is a line in here about self-harming. Maybe I should warn you guys about that...

CHAPTER TWO

One Month Ago… Lebanon, KS

Dean sat silently at the table, staring at the open book in front of him. He was tired, and angry, and frustrated. His mind was running a thousand miles an hour, replaying over and over each and every thing he had done since the Mark of Cain had first been placed on his arm. Over and over, again and again, Dean watched in his mind as he slaughtered man and woman alike. He could still feel the power coursing through his veins, the rage building up and up, filling him until he felt as if he were going to burst.

Dean could never tell anyone, ever, but at night, when the dreams of blood and fire and sweat and tears would make him bolt awake, panting and sweating, this whole body sang with desire, his manhood throbbing painfully, straining against his boxer briefs. Dean felt heat rise, his cheeks burning, even now at just the memory of such things. He felt sick, disgusted, and broken as hell. He glanced at his hands and noticed his fingers shaking. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Dean tried to calm his nerves. He opened his eyes and continued staring at the book, though his eyes saw nothing but blood.

Sam leaned against the counter in the kitchen. He poured a cup of coffee, shuddering as he heard the noises come from beyond the doors of the bunker. The Darkness had descended upon the earth less than a week ago, and Sam knew that he and Dean should be out there, fighting, working to lock the Darkness back up. But the truth was, Dean couldn't handle it. Sam would never tell him that, of course, but he had seen how fragile his brother's psyche had been the last few days. And so Sam had made the decision that, for the time being at least, he would keep Dean safe, here, in the bunker.

Of course, keeping Dean safe in the bunker was harder than Sam had imagined. Dean had horrible memories of this place now - the place that Dean had once been so quietly proud of. He didn't stay in his own bedroom anymore, didn't wander the halls. Hell, if Sam was being completely honest, he was more of a death echo than anything else, reliving the fight with Cas over and over again, his eyes haunted. Dean shook all the time - a barely perceptible vibration, one not of poorly contained violence the way he had in the past, but that of a person on the verge of a breakdown. Sam knew - he'd been there. He remembered when he'd awoken from Bobby's bunker, his soul newly replaced, with the nagging feeling that at any time, he would just… stop working.

And so Sam did his best to ignore the howls of who knew what that started when the now dimmed sun set and the moon rose. Sam had ventured outdoors once, after the Darkness came. He had seen how much larger the moon now seemed, as if it were suddenly thousands of miles closer than it had been this time last week. He had seen things - large things - lurking in the darkness, just outside his vision. And he knew now that he had never truly known fear until that moment.

Dean seemed content for the time being, to sit in the library under the pretense of research. Sam carefully didn't mention that not only was there no mention of the Darkness in anything any of the Men of Letters had written, he quietly ignored the fact that Dean had been staring at the same page in the same book for the last six hours. Sighing heavily, Sam opened the fridge to find what he could make for Dean for dinner. They were steadily going through the majority of their stock, which meant that at some point in time, Sam would have to make a run. And he wasn't certain he'd even be able to do so.

As far as Sam could tell, nothing was working - anywhere. Cell phones were down - they would turn on, of course, but there were no towers left to carry even a phone call. There was nothing but static on the radios. The televisions were snow. Even the land line phone was nothing but garbled noises. Still, they had to eat.

Sam pulled a slab of bacon out of the freezer and sat it in the sink to thaw. He slipped down the hallway to check on Dean, only to find him missing from the seat he hadn't moved from almost all day. Sam's heart leapt from his throat, just for a moment in time. "Dean?" he called out. "Hey man, ya hungry?" No response.

He moved slowly out of the library, heading down the stairs to the bedrooms. As he passed the stairwell to the basement, he heard a sound. Thump thump thump…. the sound reverberated through the hall, slowly becoming faster and faster. Furrowing his brow, Sam pulled the door open. The thumping grew louder as the door moved soundlessly on its hinges. Creeping down the concrete stairs, Sam pulled Ruby's demon knife out of its sheath and readied himself to fight. What he saw gave him pause.

Dean was turned facing a wall, ramming his head into it. He was grunting, panting, crying, and… Sam's eyes widened and immediately, he climbed the stairs as quickly and quietly as possible, closing the door behind him with little more than a click. Sam swiftly made his way to the liquor cabinet, where he poured himself two fingers of scotch and hoped he wouldn't see that image when he closed his eyes. As badly as he wanted to just be disgusted, he would be lying if he didn't also acknowledge that it was just incredibly heart wrenching to see anyone, especially his brother, do that to themselves. But, as much as Sam wanted to help Dean, there was no way in hell that he would be broaching that subject.

Sam wished, not for the first time since he and Dean had unleashed the Darkness, that Cas was around. Hell, at this point, he'd even take Crowley, even if Crowley would probably just gut Sam and then be off. Now that Sam thought about it, he could easily summon Crowley. And it wasn't a bad idea. Apart from the whole, "just tried to kill him last week," thing, that was. But, realistically, it wasn't the first time the brothers had tried to kill the king of Hell. And Crowley had done his fair share of trying to kill the brothers, as well.

Sam sighed heavily, still uncomfortable with the idea. He refilled his scotch and headed back into the kitchen. He heard Dean come in behind him, and wasn't sure if he could bring himself to meet his brother's eye. He heard, not saw, Dean open the fridge, looking for a beer, and Sam actually felt a little bit better - Dean hadn't been drinking since the Darkness arrived, and while in a different situation, Sam would take that as a good thing, it had just been one more reminder that Dean was not doing well.

Sam placed the bacon in the pan, frying it hot and fast and only partly done, the way Dean liked it. Without paying attention to his brother, who he could tell was hovering, eyeing his every move, Sam pulled out a loaf of bread, popping two pieces in the toaster. "Want to grab the mayo?" Sam asked, his voice sounding off to him, as if he were speaking into a paper towel tube. The fridge opened, shut, and then the jar of mayonnaise appeared at Sam's side. He listened as Dean walked away, and felt his shoulders relax, just slightly.

Dean walked away from the kitchen with the feeling that Sam was uncomfortable around him. He supposed that was to be expected - less than seven days ago, he had basically asked for permission to murder his brother in cold blood. And Sammy had actually given it to him. Something rattled against the door of the bunker, and Dean's shot it a glance. The door rattled again, harder this time. Dean slowly crept up the stairs to the door, his hand resting at his side, him fingering the knife he held there.

Then he heard a familiar voice. "Dammit, Moose! Squirrel!" Crowley was crying, "Let me the hell in before one of these things decides it wants to know what demon tastes like!" Dean opened the door nervously and was quickly pushed out of the way by the king of Hell. "Shut the damned door!" Crowley yelled, shoving it closed himself. Dean backed down the staircase, certain this wasn't just a friendly visit.

When the door was sealed and Crowley had caught his breath, he turned to Dean, his eyes darting to the bottom of the stairs where Sam stood with a particularly nervous look on his face. "So glad you were home," the demon said, and surprisingly enough, both brothers were pretty sure he meant it. "Your angel has lost his mind. He's trying to murder me!"

An hour later, Sam and Dean had finished their dinner (with Sam politely ignoring the scrapes Dean had gotten while downstairs) and Crowley had finally calmed down enough to explain to them what was going on. Apparently, Rowena had not only managed to complete the spell, thus releasing the Darkness, she had also cast some kind of spell on Castiel causing him to bleed from the eyes and attempt to kill Crowley.

"And you don't understand, boys. He's tracking me. Everywhere I go. I finally had no choice but to enter the Darkness - it's the only place he can't find me."

"Enter the Darkness?" Sam asked, picking up his beer, "What do you mean? Isn't the Darkness just… I don't know, everywhere?"

Crowley frowned. "Absolutely not, Moose! What did you think? That the world was just suddenly… I don't know, swallowed up and that was that?"

Dean shrugged and muttered his first words in days. "Well, yeah."

The demon shook his head as if he couldn't handle the idiocy of the brothers. "No, boys. No. Granted, a large portion of Kansas is now nothing more than flattened trees and broken buildings. and well, Nebraska, too, but really, who cares about Nebraska? The Darkness, as far as my demons are telling me, is spread out in about a 200 mile radius from a small Mexican restaurant that's for sale about three miles from this very spot. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you boys?"

The Winchesters stayed silent.

"No. Thought not," Crowley continued. "Outside of that 200 mile radius, life is going on as usual. Now, granted, over the last day or so, my fine network of informants has informed me that they believe the Darkness is indeed expanding, but at an incredibly slow rate - estimates say between a quarter to a half a mile a day. But, as of now, there is a distinct divide between life without…" he raised his arms wide, bringing them back into him as he continued, "And life within."

Dean frowned. "You said that Cas can't track you in the Darkness?"

"Give the man a prize," Crowley said. "In fact, nothing seems to work in the Darkness. Aside from the two of you, I am, as far as I know, the only living being within it - 'living' being, of course, a relative term. And, of course, I can't use any of my abilities, either. Of course, that also means that no protective magic, such as your Devil's Traps, would appear to work, either. Or did you boys fail to notice that I was able to move freely from the front entrance in your haste to get to your… meal of undercooked pork on stale enriched white bread?"

Sam and Dean shared a glance. "So, that means…" Sam started.

"Yes," Crowley said, a look of frustration on his face. "Here, in this, I am effectively human. As helpless as you to the creatures roaming the darkness."

"So," Sam followed, "You actually walked almost 200 miles to get to us?"

"Don't be daft," Crowley said, "I stole a car. I drove. I almost made it here before nightfall, as well. I had hoped to get my start with the sunrise, but that damned angel wouldn't give me time to catch my breath. You've got to lift whatever spell my mother cast on him, boys." He swallowed hard. "Please."

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged weakly. "If we're going to get through this, I don't think we can afford to lose anyone we can consider an ally - no matter how loosely we use the term," Dean replied, his eyes never leaving Crowley's.

Sam nodded, frowning. "Yeah. You're right. Dean, do you mind going and grabbing some books from the storage room? Maybe see if you can find anything on the Book of the Damned down in storage?"

Dean's glanced from Sam to Crowley and back. But he was too worn out to argue. "Sure," he replied, standing and leaving the room.

Crowley leaned back in his chair and eyed Sam. "I'm assuming there's something you wanted to talk to me about, Moose?"

Sam began to explain what he had seen so far from Dean's behavior. Crowley's face never changed from a slightly smug smile. "Yes. Well, I'm not sure why you'd be so surprised. He has touched a level of darkness kids like you can only dream of. Even I am not sure what he has had running through his mind for the last year."

"You're saying there's nothing you can do to help him?"

Crowley shrugged. "How could I? I'm a demon, Sam. I don't heal people. It's not in my nature. Particularly here and now."

Sam leaned back in frustration. "You can't even talk to him?"

"And say what?" Crowley asked, the smirk replaced with a look that Sam would almost have sworn was frustration, "Hey, look, mate - I hear you've got some very specific kink going on in your life and I just wanted to let you know that I'm here for you if you feel you have any urges you'd like to work out with a partner?"

Sam flushed and dropped his eyes. "Just… forget about it," he replied.

"Yes, well," Crowley said, a devious gleam in his eye, "It's certainly not a mental image I can let go of that easily, but I'll do my best."

They sat in silence for what felt like forever, but was probably only closer to about an hour. Crowley seemed incredibly nervous around Sam, and it took Sam a few minutes before he realized that he and Crowley were on even ground, physically speaking. Crowley didn't have his demon abilities to back him up. He was just a short little man who could easily be overpowered by Sam, who was superior to Crowley in every way that mattered. Sam stayed where he was purely out of fear of how his earlier search for Dean had turned out.

It was an incredible relief when Dean came back upstairs, carrying only a single book. "Sam," he said, "Can you make heads or tails of this?"

Sam took the book from Dean and opened it up. "It's just another ledger, Dean." Sam began.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," Dean replied. "But look at the row that shows where they should be." He leaned forward, barely touching Sam's shoulder, and pointed.

Instead of seeing the standard Men of Letters filing information, there were a group of numbers that looked… "They're coordinates," Sam murmured.

"That's what I thought, too," Dean replied. "There are a couple ledgers like this down there. They all seem to list the same place."

"Yeah? I wonder what's there."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, but I get the feeling that maybe we should head out of this place and see."

Sam, against his better judgement, nodded in agreement.